


In the creases and the shadows

by jeanquirieplus (wireless), wireless



Category: The Pacific - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-02
Updated: 2010-08-02
Packaged: 2017-10-10 22:02:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/104796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wireless/pseuds/jeanquirieplus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wireless/pseuds/wireless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't know when it started, if it ever actually properly 'started' even.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the creases and the shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Totally unbeta-ed. This is reaction!fic, I just couldn't pass up spirograph's amazing picspam featuring Kitten Company's mum and dad (actually, Bambi Company might be more fitting at this point). Title taken from a Paul Simon song.

He doesn't know when it started, if it ever actually properly 'started' even. All he knows is that he loves this man with a quiet, steadfast devotion that by all rights should frighten him and somehow does not. He has never felt more secure about an emotion in his entire life. It doesn't even require thought.

Eddie had come into the Skipper's tent one night months ago while they were still at the camp to find Ack-Ack apparently dozing on his cot, carefully arranged on his side, with his arms crossed over his chest, broad jaw cast into relief by an anemic sliver of moonlight. He'd turned to leave (Skipper never got nearly enough rest, and the man's closed eyes made something sweet twist in his chest, hadn't wanted to disturb something so oddly hallowed as this man's sleep) but he'd looked back from the tent flap and Ack-Ack's eyes had been open and trained on him. So he'd backtracked in and smiled. Could hardly help himself, didn't see a need to hide it. Skipper had watched him for a moment and extended an arm out, without a word.

It was a command that he would have followed, had followed, into a hail of bullets. He dropped down and folded himself around the other man on the cot. Ack-Ack drew himself inwards, and Eddie deployed an arm over his shoulders, carefully cupping the back of his head. It was an awkward fit–the cot was regular issue and neither of them was small, but it was a fit nevertheless. He stayed motionless and time stopped for a bit. There is a certain quality to silence with Captain Haldane that reminds him of home, of the hill country in the early morning, the Blue Ridge emerging from the mist and the air so crisp you can taste it. He was dozing off when Ack-Ack roused himself and whispered that he should probably be getting back to his own billet. Eddie extracted his arm and exhaled. He sat up, slowly, hands loosely griping the edge of the cot. Their fingers brushed. The universe aligned. He turned and looked down at the Skipper, who gave him a smile. Leaned down, rested his hand against the other man's neck, thumb stroking the junction of Ack-Ack's jaw, the sensitive skin behind his ear. And then he pressed his lips to other man's, once.

That had been it, really. They had a platoon to bring home intact, somehow, kids to keep whole, somehow. They sustained each other's faith much like fusion reactors, though neither would have explained it that way. It was a chemical equation that kept them greater than the sum of their parts. The men needed it, they needed it. Eddie had never understood something so fully before, even though he didn't rightly know if he could put words on it.

And now he sits here, and it's dark and the battle has been gruesome–is gruesome, it's nowhere near over. They told them they were deploying to Palau for a week, and it's been two and a half. They take one step up the coral and nine steps back while every hole, every ditch, every rocky promontory on this damn island tries to kill them and generally succeeds in some fashion. The men are losing themselves little by little, but the Skipper keeps them sane with quiet compassion and Eddie does the best he can by them. They're brittle, though. Some cry at night, some even scream which is a hazard to everyone. It tears at him. But right now he's sitting watch and Ack-Ack is dozing off against his shoulder, a rare moment of calm in the midst of the unrelenting horror. The men are quiet, the snipers are quiet, Eddie might actually believe that there is a God. Ack-Ack's head lists against his shoulder, and Eddie reaches a hand out, brushes their fingers together, pushes the other hand into Ack-Ack's hair, brushes it out of his wet face. Skipper's asleep, but he must have felt the movement. He exhales Eddie's name and it sounds like a prayer, like the memory of something holy, turns his head into that bony shoulder a little more, gifts Eddie with some of his grace.

And right now, right here, thousands upon thousands of miles from home, under the driving, incessant rain and the strange constellations, ankle-deep in mud and the mingled blood of enemy combatants and his own men, privileged party to his Captain's face slack with sleep, Eddie Jones (against all logic) feels blessed.


End file.
